Firstly, I would like to give a big trigger warning for this post. Pretty much anything found on my site here could fall into the category of somewhere between religiously offensive and of a psychologically graphic nature due to my trauma dumping. Yes, I temporarily abandoned my blogging project here. No, this is not a love story. This is a recollection of all the ways I could have died, or thought I was going to die. Recently, I have been busy working on a color study of mushroom crystals using acrylic paints on canvas, and my shoulder kind of hurts right now. And working at life. I also finished chapter twenty-something of the story I am attempting to write. I’ve been wanting to compile an account of all the ways to help me face some of the scenarios my characters will soon be facing. Surprise, surprise, there will be death in my story. But life is inspirational. Life is art. I don’t want to write a full-blown autobiography, but this is a list I have been wanting to get down in words for a few years. Shadow work is often at the forefront of my daily tasks, and I have had a clear understanding of why I have been drawn to chthonic deities for almost a decade. As a pious pagan, I have been working to reconcile energies between the Morrigan and Loki in my practice. Goddess of war, sovereignty, and fate. God of mischief, trickery, and chaos. Why, you might ask, would I ever want to work with such dark entities? I work with many others, as well, because I believe life is about being willing to embrace its full spectrum. Writing my fictional character’s death was hard on me emotionally, and I took the time I needed to prepare mentally; healing was required. The writing process is very cathartic. I say it often. Facing one’s own shadow requires a different mindset and becomes one of the most challenging tasks we face, this untangling of a complex experience called life.

I am a twin. She was fraternal and died in the womb a week before my birth. I found out from my parents, both of whom have passed, that I was conceived between two cars at a party. What a magical stroke of luck that I randomly came into existence and knew death before I was born. Sometimes I think of it like Goddess Hela took my twin sister to the other side and left me here instead.

Around elementary school age, I told my uncle to fuck off. I think he was telling me not to use so much butter on my toaster waffle. (I also wonder where I learned that kind of language at that age.) He strangled me. Picked me straight up off the ground with one hand around my throat and warned me never to talk to him like that again. Not sure if this really counts as near death, but I thought I was going to die that day, and it was significantly traumatic, so close enough, even though I lived.

Domestic violence has a not-so-funny way of sneaking up on those who find themselves within its grip. That relationship ended with my hands and feet tied up with telephone wire, my face submerged under running bath water. My mind kept saying Do Not Breathe. When I didn’t start choking hysterically, I think he lost interest. I was tossed in a room barricaded off by cinder blocks. I managed to wriggle free from the bindings and escape. I also sustained a stab wound on my thigh during this exchange.

Then there was the one time I jumped out of a moving car on the freeway to avoid abduction by a pimp. I ran straight into the back of a Starbucks with a lit cigarette. One shoe fell off somewhere on the off-ramp. This was the event that put an end to my drinking days and began my spiritual journey as a pagan, and learning about the Gods and Goddesses. A couple of them being the Morrigan and her warrior aspects, and acceptance of Loki’s chaos in the world and my life.

Despite my sobriety and finding the Gods, I wound up in another domestically abusive relationship. When they don’t hit your body, it’s easy to miss or ignore the signs. Then it became apparent he was delusional and was hearing voices as well. After I told him it was over, he swore we were meant to be together. Soulmates. And that no matter what, he would make sure we would be together in our next lives. He was very excited about the idea of our next lives together. I don’t think I slept the last two weeks living there out of fear that he would kill me. You know, to hurry up and usher in the next phase of our journey together.

Precancer was removed from the colon. Not sure if this one belongs on this list, but it’s a death sentence kept at bay with a snip. Every five years for the rest of my life, I get to undergo a fun little procedure. To make sure nothing else is growing in that part of my body that will kill me as aggressively as it did other direct family members.

I was treated for appendicitis. The organ was severely inflamed but not ruptured. I had multiple doctors coming in and out of the room. Some demanded to know why I wasn’t in surgery. Other doctors were like, “Well, it’s not ruptured. Europe is leading this medical breakthrough with antibiotics to treat this condition.” Spent the night in the hospital, pumped up on drugs, puking, crying, dying. The next morning, they sent me on my way in tears and excruciating pain. The doctor offered these words upon my departure, “Well, we all die, but you won’t die today.” (This was at a Kaiser hospital.)

I was working from home when my front door was kicked in by a masked man carrying a black assault rifle. He pointed the gun at me, pivoted on his feet, and looked from me to the front door next to mine. I looked down, averted eye contact, crossed my hands over my chest where he could see, and casually stepped in front of him. My kids were inside. I honestly think I was in so much shock that just closing my eyes made it all go away, like it wasn’t real. He said, “Oh, sorry, wrong place,” and proceeded to kick in my neighbor’s door instead. I think a lot of people would have screamed. Which probably would have scared the gunman into shooting. Someone told me I did what’s called a tend and befriend move, which is a common tactic used by those from abusive relationships, when they want to pacify their abuser. Fight or flight is the most common reaction people have, which I believe would have had a more dire consequence.

Wow, I finally did it. I wrote out a list of all the ways I could have died, or think I came pretty darn close. I am sure there might be a few more close calls somewhere in there that happened during my not-so-glorious blackout days. I am a little embarrassed to share all of this. It’s all so totally ridiculous and true. Writing my fictional character’s death was one thing I approached carefully, knowing the subject can be triggering. As for the reconciliation of the energies between the Morrigan and Loki? I have learned that both energies do not need to exist in the same place at the same time for the same purpose for no reason whatsoever. Although working with these two deities here in this post, I received the resilience and insight needed to accomplish one of my darkest shadow tasks. Perhaps the lesson, or theme here, is that teamwork makes the dreamwork. No matter how badly personalities or paths clash. As for the role of chaos and the human desire to run from it? That’s a fun one to discuss and think about.